Cradle of Solitude

by Alex Archer

  From where she sat on the deck nearby, Annja could see a small metallic object lying amid the shattered porcelain.

  In that second, everyone’s attention was on the remains of the statue and nowhere else. Now, Annja thought, and she tensed, ready to move, but before she could do so things took another turn.

  A pair of figures stepped out onto the deck of the other boat and Annja’s gaze automatically flicked over in that direction. Bernard stood there, his hands tied in front of him, and a blindfold on his face. Beside him was another of Michaels’s thugs, a gun stuck in Bernard’s side.

  As if reading her intentions, Michaels looked up from the debris at his feet and asked, “Going somewhere, Miss Creed?”

  Annja bit back her reply and released the tension in her limbs. Whatever she’d hoped to do, it was too late now.

  Over Michaels’s shoulder, Annja could see Garin come to the same conclusion.

  Michaels bent down, brushed aside the broken porcelain and picked up the object that had been hidden inside the statue.

  “Bring me the professor,” he called out, and waited while Bernard was led across the deck and then helped across the gap between the boats.

  When the professor was standing in front of him, Michaels ripped off the blindfold and held up the object he’d taken from inside the statue. “What is this?” he asked.

  From where she sat on the deck, Annja could see that Michaels was holding a metal disk about twice the size of a half-dollar. Another piece of metal had been inserted in the center of the disk, this one in the shape of an eight-pointed star. As she watched, he spun the star so that it rotated within the confines of the disk, making an odd clicking sound as it did so.

  Bernard was much closer to the object than she was, and therefore could get a better look at it, but it was clear from the expression on his face that he didn’t recognize it.

  Annja wasn’t the only one who noticed, either.

  “I’m getting the feeling you don’t have any idea what this is, do you, Professor?”

  “Of course I do,” Bernard said indignantly, his professional pride stung from the accusation. Or maybe it was just the muzzle of the pistol the guard jabbed him with when he seemed hesitant to answer. “It’s a…well… I think…”

  Michaels sighed and there was something downright menacing in the exaggerated way he did so. “Perhaps it hasn’t occurred to you yet, Professor Reinhardt, but your usefulness to me is severely limited if you can’t give me the information I need.”

  Bernard held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Just give me a minute… It’s coming to me….”

  “It’s a Jeffersonian Key,” Annja said, coming to his rescue.

  Michaels turned and looked at her. “Go on.”

  “They were invented by Thomas Jefferson near the close of the American Revolution. The star on the disk acts as a primitive combination lock, releasing successive layers of the corresponding locking mechanism when inserted into the lock and turned in the proper direction.”

  Michaels stared at her for a long moment without saying anything. “It would seem, Miss Creed, that you are better prepared to find the treasure than your colleague.”

  Annja didn’t say anything. She didn’t know where Michaels was going with this and didn’t want to do anything to tip the scales in the wrong direction. If Bernard was no longer seen as useful, then Michaels might be tempted to get rid of him. Permanently.

  “In fact, I don’t see any reason to keep floundering around, following the professor’s instructions, while you beat us to the jackpot each time. I think it would be much better if you did the dirty work, found the treasure and then just turned it over to me.”

  “Like hell I will,” Annja said quietly.

  Michaels laughed. “That’s precisely what I’d expect you to say, Miss Creed, which is why I’m glad I don’t have to depend on your good-natured cooperation.”

  Without looking away from her, he said, “Kill one of them. I don’t care which one.”

  “Wait!” Annja shouted, cursing inwardly. “Just wait a moment. I’m sure we can work this out.”

  Michaels cocked his head to one side. “Work this out?” he asked. “What is there to work out? You’ll either find the treasure for me or I’ll shoot your friends. It’s pretty simple.”

  Annja’s hand ached from her efforts to keep from calling the sword and charging forward. She wanted to wipe that annoying smile off the smug bastard’s face, but knew the moment she made her move someone else would wind up dead and the chances that it would be herself or one of her friends was pretty damn high.

  Patience, Grasshopper, patience, she told herself.

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

  Michaels’s grin widened. “See? That wasn’t so difficult, now was it?”

  He waited for her to shake her head, the very act acknowledging his control over her, and then, over his shoulder, he said to his henchman, “What are you waiting for? I told you to kill one of them.”

  At first she thought she’d misheard him, but then the air was filled with the terrible sound of a gunshot and Annja watched in horror as Bernard’s body slumped over on the deck in front of her.

  “You son of a bitch!” she cried, surging to her feet, the blood pounding in her ears as she mentally reached for her sword…

  …only to be struck in the face with the butt end of the assault rifle held in her guard’s hands.

  The blow was hard enough to knock her unconscious. As she tumbled backward, she thought she heard someone call her name and, over that, the sound of the madman in front of her cackling like a particularly vicious little child, and then the darkness had her and she knew no more.

  30

  When Annja regained consciousness, she found herself lying on the deck of the Kelly May with the dead for company.

  The bodies of Jimmy Mitchell and Bernard Reinhardt lay where they had fallen, their blood staining the wood beneath their still forms, their sightless eyes staring out at the world from which they’d been taken too soon.

  Of the others, there was no sign.

  Blaine Michaels and his henchmen were gone.

  The boat that they had arrived in was gone, as well.

  Garin was missing, too.

  Annja pushed herself up into a sitting position and was nearly overwhelmed by a wave of dizziness that washed over her. She held still, waiting for it to pass. Her face hurt and her nose throbbed, but a gentle exploration of both with her fingertips told her that nothing seemed to be broken. Swollen, yes, but not broken.

  When the dizziness had passed and she was reasonably sure she wouldn’t vomit, she climbed to her feet.

  “Hello?” she called, or tried to, at least. Her voice came out as more of a croak and she could taste the blood from her damaged nose at the back of her throat.

  No one answered her.

  Well, who did you expect? she asked herself. The Ghost of Christmas Past? You can see there’s no one here.

  She could, too. There really wasn’t all that much more to the boat than she could see. Foredeck. Aft deck. And the wheelhouse. From where she stood she could observe both decks and everything above waist height in the wheelhouse, so unless someone was crouching on the floor of the latter, she was on her own.

  An image of a wounded Garin lying bruised and bloody on the wheelhouse floor came to her, and though she didn’t think it likely, she knew she wouldn’t be able to put it out of her mind until she checked, just to be sure. She wobbled forward on unsteady legs, her equilibrium still out of whack from the blow to the head, and peered inside the wheelhouse.

  There was no one there.

  That didn’t mean there wasn’t anything of interest inside, however.

  A black cell phone stood on the control panel right next to the throttle, plainly visible from the wheelhouse door. It was one of those disposable models that you could buy in just about any corner store these days. She didn’t remember seeing Jimmy with a phone like that and
she knew it wasn’t hers or Garin’s. It seemed it had been left there specifically for her.

  Next to it was the Jeffersonian Key that had been secreted inside the porcelain horse.

  She crossed over to the phone and picked it up. A quick examination showed her that there was a single number stored in the device’s memory. She called the number, listening to the line ring for a few moments before it was answered by Michaels.

  “Welcome back, Miss Creed.”

  Her fury rose at the sound of his voice. “I’m going to kill you for what you’ve done,” she told him, and meant every word of it.

  “You can certainly try,” he replied, and then laughed at the very idea of it.

  For a long moment all Annja could see was red. When she came back to herself she was clutching her sword in her hand, her fingers wrapped so tightly around the hilt that they were turning white. Michaels was speaking.

  “Wait, what?” she asked, shaking her head to clear it while releasing her sword back into the otherwhere with a flick of her hand. She hadn’t unconsciously called her sword before, and its appearance was a bit surprising, but she didn’t have time then to puzzle it out.

  “Pay attention, Miss Creed! Your friend’s life depends on it.”

  “What did you do with him?”

  “Do? Why, nothing. I simply invited him to accompany us for a bit while you finished the task ahead of you.”

  “If you harm him—”

  “You’ll do what, Miss Creed?” He laughed again, setting her teeth on edge. “You’re not in a position to do anything but what I tell you to do. And I’m telling you to find the missing treasury if you want to see your friend again.”

  Annja knew when she’d been backed into a corner. She’d have to figure out a way to get both herself and Garin out of this mess, once she had the treasure in hand.

  “Fine.”

  His voice was practically dripping with satisfaction as he said, “Excellent. Take the phone with you. I’ll expect a call from you inside of seventy-two hours at which point I’ll tell you where to rendezvous with me to turn over the treasure.”

  “Seventy-two hours? Are you crazy? I can’t possibly find it in that kind of time frame.”

  Michaels’s tone was firm and brooked no disagreement. “You can and you will. Or you can say goodbye to your friend. Seventy-two hours, Miss Creed. That’s all you get.”

  There was a click and the line went dead.

  Seventy-two hours? How the hell was she supposed to accomplish that?

  By moving your ass, girl, she told herself. Stop whining and get to work!

  She grabbed the key and the phone. Her gaze flicked across the pair of bodies on the aft deck. They were lying right out in the open, visible to anyone who happened to pass by, and Annja knew she couldn’t leave them that way.

  Something had to be done.

  Routing around in the storage compartments at the rear of the boat, Annja found several large tarps and she used those as a temporary solution to cover the bodies of her friends. She weighed the edges of the tarps down in several places so that the wind wouldn’t pick them up and blow them aside once they got under way.

  Because that’s exactly what she was going to have to do. Get under way. She couldn’t just leave the boat here, in the middle of the river, no matter how badly she might want to in order to avoid having to deal with the mess Michaels had dumped in her lap. Bernard deserved better than being left behind like some discarded piece of trash. Jimmy Mitchell did, too.

  She was going to have to bring the boat back to the marina, put it in its proper slip and hope no one observed her when she made her departure.

  The dive line and magnetometer were still being towed behind them, so she had to bring those aboard first and stow them. Despite not having seen another boat other than Michaels’s the entire time they been on the river, she was still filled with anxiety as she worked, afraid another vessel was going to come along at any moment and notice something irregular.

  Like the two corpses on the aft deck, she thought with a shudder.

  Getting caught seemingly red-handed with the dead bodies of her friends with the deck beneath them covered in their congealing blood was not something she thought she had a chance of walking away from. She’d be locked up quicker than she could blink. If that happened, Garin would be left at the mercy of that psycho, Michaels.

  So make sure it doesn’t happen, she told herself. Get off the main river and out of sight for a bit while you figure out what to do.

  With that in mind, she went into the wheelhouse and examined the controls after the dive line and magnetometer had been brought aboard and stowed away. The controls seemed fairly intuitive and the time she’d spent watching Mitchell maneuver the boat earlier that morning would likely be helpful, as well. With only a little trouble, she got the engines started and the boat turned around, heading back in the direction from which they’d come.

  She encountered only one other vessel while out on the open river, a small fishing boat with an outboard motor. As they passed by on the port side she was filled with a sense of impending doom. They were going to see the bundle and know exactly what was underneath it! Annja was sure of it.

  Of course, nothing of the sort happened. The other boat was far too low in the water to allow its passengers to see her deck, never mind figure out what was under the weighted tarp. They passed with a friendly nod and a quick wave, allowing Annja to get back to worrying needlessly.

  Twenty minutes farther along, she spotted the mouth of a tributary large enough to handle the boat and turned in that direction. About a dozen yards down its length, the channel curved sharply to one side. Anything around the bend would be out of sight of the main waterway. It was just what she needed.

  Once in position, she brought the boat to a stop and shut down the engine. She listened for the sound of another engine nearby, but all that came back to her was the gentle lapping of the water on the hull and the occasional cry of a hunting bird of prey.

  She couldn’t bring the boat into dock with two corpses under a tarp on the back deck, she reminded herself. They might not be noticed for a day, maybe two, but the minute they started smelling someone was bound to come aboard and investigate.

  She needed somewhere that she could store them until this entire mess was sorted out. She felt terrible about it, but what choice did she have? If she called the police now they’d hold her for questioning, perhaps even decide that she was the prime suspect and lock her up. She’d be condemning Garin to certain death.

  As it turned out, the answer was right there behind her.

  A pair of doors was set in the center of the aft deck a few feet forward of the stern gunwale. Opening them, Annja discovered the refrigerated fish hold. On a working trawler, the fish would be rinsed with high-powered hoses that would push them over the lip of the hatch into the hold below. The refrigeration unit built into the walls of the hold would then keep the fish fresh until the boat returned to dock and the catch was sorted, boxed and then iced for its journey to the preparation plant.

  If she could get the bodies into the fish hold, they’d be out of sight and chilled enough to stop major decomposition for the time being.

  The trouble was, she didn’t want to handle them. Not because she was squeamish, she was a far cry from that, but because she didn’t want to leave any trace evidence on them if she could help it. She was already going to have a hard enough time explaining things when she got the chance. She’d be a suspect in their deaths, for sure. Add that to the recent killings she’d been involved in overseas and she knew she’d be answering police questions for weeks, if not months. Giving the police evidence that she’d been in physical contact with the victims was not going to help her case, not at all.

  The problem was partially alleviated, she realized, by the fact that she was still in her neoprene wetsuit. With the hood up and her neoprene dive gloves on, the only part of her body that wasn’t completely covered was her face. Even he
r hair was secured beneath the tight-fitting hood. The fabric of the suit would help repel any blood that got on her, and since she had other clothes to change into, she could always spray herself down with the high-powered hose and then dispose of the suit when she was finished.

  Satisfied with her plan, or at least as much of a plan as she had, she got to work rigging the rest of the equipment she needed to pull this off.

  She moved one of the booms into position over the doors to the fish hold and then attached a rope pulley to it. She dug around in the storage lockers until she found a medium-size net that would be large enough to hold both Jimmy’s and Bernard’s bodies and laid it out flat beside the hatch.

  Then, donning her gloves, she took off the tarps and put them aside. She’d deal with them in a bit. Right now she needed to get the bodies into the net and then maneuver the net over the hatch so she could gently lower the whole contraption to the deck below.

  She supposed it might have been easier to just roll them over the edge and into the hold, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do that. Not so much earlier both men were laughing and joking with her and the idea of treating their earthly remains like, well, sacks of meat just wasn’t going to cut it. She’d spend the extra time to lower them into the hold gently, and if someone came along while she was doing it she’d worry about it then.

  She shifted the bodies one at a time and put them in the net. She then attached the hooks on the sides of the net to a sling and tied the sling off to the rope she’d threaded through the pulley earlier. She gave all the connections a few tugs, and found that they were secure.

  Satisfied, she moved over to the other end of the rope, sat down on the deck with her back to the gunwale and, taking the rope between, began to heave it backward. It went easily at first, for all they were doing was taking up the slack. But after that, when the weight of the two bodies was pulling against her, she was thankful that she had the pulley or it would have been all over before it began.

  Annja managed to lift the net a few inches off the ground, then used the tip of her foot to maneuver it out over the open doors to the hold. The moment it was she let the rope slip through her hands and the bodies of the two men disappeared into the hold with nary a sound.